


At the Point

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:34:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7058470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’re getting better at this.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Point

By the third week Seijuurou gets used to leaning over the counter and getting the elbows of his oxford shirt dirty with spilled tea and coffee grounds and sticky syrup. By the fourth week he fits in, his regular order of black tea with honey memorized by all of the baristas (but Tatsuya had been asking him if he’d like the usual from day one, because Tatsuya knows these things and Tatsuya wouldn’t let any of the others do anything when it comes to Seijuurou if he wasn’t doing it first). And Seijuurou supposes this attitude is acceptable; after all, if he needed the work or the money himself he’d surely be in the same situation as Tatsuya.

Tatsuya gives him free muffins despite knowing that Seijuurou has enough money to buy the bakery if he so desires (and the muffins are barely adequate, so he’d rather not) and refills his tea before he can bring it to attention, swinging by the table with his apron untied (which Seijuurou is beginning to think is on purpose just so Seijuurou will retie it and let his fingers remain on the small of Tatsuya’s back for a brief moment).

Tatsuya always takes his break half an hour before Seijuurou leaves for class (his classes are all scattered and late except for the day he doesn’t work, when he has them all day) and sits with him a while, stealing bites of the muffin and grinning as he licks the crumbs from his fingers, white teeth shining like the polished keys of a new piano.

“Do you mind?” he always asks, halfway through the second bite.

“Of course not,” says Seijuurou.

And then he finds Tatsuya’s knee, not hard under the cramped corner table that Seijuurou prefers because it’s both inconspicuous and close to the bar where he can see Tatsuya splashing iced tea into cups, milk and foam into espresso in nonsensical designs that the graduate students giggle at and the professors don’t notice as they gulp down their lattes and cappuccinos before they tackle the never-ending stacks of papers that somehow fit into their beat-up messenger bags.

Tatsuya will cover Seijuurou’s hand with his own and smile at him again, a flash like fool’s gold in the pan, his hand cool and rough with coffee grounds but his fingertips smooth despite the years and months and days of skimming off basketballs and redirecting them into hoops and other hands.

They talk, Tatsuya leaning in with his strong shoulders folding impossibly in the light to bring his face close enough to Seijuurou’s for Seijuurou to smell the burnt coffee and muffin grains on his breath, to see the shadows of his eyelashes flicker on his cheeks like a monitor with a shitty refresh rate. Seijuurou thumbs away the coffee splash on Tatsuya’s cheek and Tatsuya thanks him, voice barely heard above the music even at this (lack of) distance.

The speaker crackles; the smooth lounge jazz swells (this is not Tatsuya’s playlist; he’s fond of rap and 1980s hits and western stuff, surf rock and reggaeton) and the saxophonist for this song is not very good but Seijuurou isn’t here to critique musicality (or Tatsuya’s coworkers’ tastes). Seijuurou leans closer, pressing the ghost of a kiss to Tatsuya’s dry lips.

“I should go,” he says, pushing his textbook into his schoolbag.

Tatsuya nods, more in deferral to his decision than in actual assent.

* * *

There are days Tatsuya stays on his break, or after he gets off, doing his own homework. He’s studying translation (he calls it a lazy career choice since he’s already bilingual, with more than the usual hint of self-deprecation that latches onto his words like barbed wire, but from the way he works at it and the deliberate look on his face as he writes, erases, and replaces the word he wants it’s clear this is anything but lazy), different enough from Seijuurou’s choice (obligation), business, that they wouldn’t be taking any of the same classes.

It’s still companionship; they’re still in this together as much as they can be, as much as their separate prides allow each other to be.

“We’re getting better at this,” Seijuurou tells him while he waits for Tatsuya to close the shop.

Tatsuya pauses where he’s whistling along to the music and gives his best fake smile.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” says Seijuurou.

But he knows they are. He’s at the point where he’ll stay rather than going home and ordering tofu from the one place in Tokyo that makes it exactly to his specifications and then they’ll make dinner together (and he’ll pretend not to notice Tatsuya correcting the flame on the stove and take note of it, get it better the next time, because he’s at the point where that’s all possible); Tatsuya’s at the point where he waits, where he lets Seijuurou into these moments where he’s cleaning the floors and the counters, rolling up his sleeves as they fall back down, cuffs wrinkling at his wrists, thinking to himself and letting his gaze drift around the room; Seijuurou’s at the point where he lets Tatsuya think and does not disturb his thoughts.

They’re at the point where they’ll wake up the next morning tangled up in each other and still smelling like coffee before they shower it out of themselves, ever so briefly, where Seijuurou will force Tatsuya to eat a proper breakfast with some actual protein before he works because he needs it, the point where where Tatsuya will accept it with something like grace in his face. They’re at the point (but they never weren’t) where Tatsuya will hand Seijuurou his teacup with a smile and make sure to brush his knuckles over Seijuurou’s fingertips as he hands it off, pretend that his grip is insecure, and hold on just a little bit longer. And they’re at the point where Seijuurou will lean his elbows on the bar when he’s not waiting for an order and take up some of Tatsuya’s time, because even though he’s working he’s proficient at multitasking. And, at least in this matter, he’ll let Seijuurou get what he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't really a coffeeshop or a college au, strictly speaking--imo it's a future situation that's not totally out of the question.


End file.
